


cut to the fallout

by vintaged



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Bahryn (Star Wars), M/M, i just really love when zeb carries him, kallus is in his feelings at all times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24612586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintaged/pseuds/vintaged
Summary: Companionship is not an option, even here.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus & Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 20
Kudos: 131





	cut to the fallout

**Author's Note:**

> wowowow i haven't written a fic in ?? 6 years??? i don't have a lot of knowledge about star wars but i love rebels and i love these two space nerds, so i gave it my best shot. thank you for reading! xoxo

It begins on a frozen planet. 

These things often do. 

Here, time is only an outline, day and night held hostage between wakefulness and rest. This is the kind of cold no one outruns. Kallus knows this almost too well, has seen stronger men than he collapse into the harsh weather of newly-conquered planets. This is how it goes, always has; by all accounts he should be dead. And yet, against all odds, here he is. In pieces, certainly, bruised and disheveled and fatigued. But _here._

The thought shocks him, just a bit, and Kallus winces as the knot of fear in his stomach twists painfully. At this point the throbbing anxiety of survival has settled just below his bruised ribs -probably will never untangle. He doesn’t know why. He has spent his life training for this, after all; in the back of his mind he wonders how long it’s been since the escape pod crashed.

Kallus supposes he should have given up on counting the hours they’ve been trapped here, both beneath the ice and, now, staggering blindly across it in search of shelter.

Why start now? What good would it do?

Somewhere to his right, the lasat clears his throat.

“Agent. Are you… you know… good?” the voice is hesitant, guarded. If it weren’t for the sharp gasps he’s let out every few steps, Kallus thinks they would have hobbled on in silence. As it is, he grits his teeth. Replies as steadily as he can:

“Yes. Of course.” 

It is a lie. If Kallus could have his way, he’d be buoyed on a gurney to the nearest medical bay, the pain drugged out of him; his leg whines with every step, the bone clearly broken in more than one place. He has bitten the inside of his cheek, can feel the swollen tissue throb with belated pain. Every muscle, joint, tendon burns to the point of exhaustion.

But Kallus has had enough of this… this _weakness_ ; finds himself wary of the new, unfamiliar sense of companionship that has billowed between him and the lasat without warning. Who is he to rely on someone, let alone the only survivor of the genocide that got him promoted? The very idea makes him want to laugh, some short spit of humor in a graceless blizzard.

Companionship is not an option, even here. Kallus knows his place. People like him do their job, nothing more, nothing less. If they’re lucky, they’re never pushed into any territory more dangerous than guilt. People like him don’t ask questions. It’s just the natural order of things.

However, he realizes bitterly, if the last few hours have taught him anything, it’s that the natural order of things is anything but orderly.

Kallus has been quiet for too long. The lasat grunts.

“Here,” Garazeb says. “Put your arm around me.”

“What?”

“Put your arm ‘round my neck. You need to take the weight off yer leg.”

Kallus balks at the idea. Even now, hidden behind the flurry of frozen water and wind, bound to his own bo-rifle, the urge to sneer is overwhelming. He stops in his tracks, knee deep in fresh, wet snow.

“No. I can make it.”

Garazeb huffs. “You’re gonna make it another half mile, are ya? Uphill?”

“We’re not on an incline.”

“Not yet. Kriff, yer human eyes really can’t see for shit, huh?” the lasat says drily. He points up ahead, one blueish fist quickly disappearing into the thick snow. “There’s a rock formation up ahead. Looks like we’ll be protected from the storm there.”

Kallus feels his lips purse. “A half mile?” He is ashamed at the tightness in his voice, but if Garazeb hears the strain he pretends not to notice. The lasat kicks some snow aside, clearing a halfhearted path a few steps ahead.

“You’re not gonna make it on one leg, Kal… lus.” Garazeb says. “And I can’t go much slower without standin’ still. At this rate we’re gonna freeze our asses off, and yer damn pride will be to blame.”

“It’s not my pride. I’m perfectly capable-”

The lasat snarls. Steps forward. Before Kallus can think to object, stagger out of the way, he feels thick claws close around his back and leg, cutting at the knee and forcing him to crumple. In a way it’s almost a relief, the speed with which this rebel has lost all patience with him. This time Garazeb lifts him with considerable ease, unceremoniously dumping the transponder and his own bo-rifle onto Kallus’ belly as he does so.

“Shut up,” he grunts. “Just… shut up.”

He shifts Kallus in his arms, and begins to walk.

For a moment Kallus considers resisting; kicking his good leg until Garazeb is forced to drop him into the snowdrifts that are now beginning to resemble small mountains. It wouldn’t be too hard, and he senses that the lasat is more than willing to drop him should he complain.

And yet.

Kallus feels his chest tighten. _And yet._

He is tempted to offer some kind of condescending remark, about how flat the ground is, how they’re never going to make it to this invisible cave or whatever; a few steps forward and he’s grateful to have held his tongue, as Garazeb’s knees begin to bump lightly against Kallus’ lower back. The incline. With a shiver he realizes the wind is starting to pick up, as if it could scream any louder in his ears. He wonders mildly if he will die of frostbite out here, in the arms of his enemy. The strangest grave of all.

Garazeb looks down, frowns slightly.

With a little sigh, the kind that puffs out into a small cloud and is instantly whipped away into the ether, the lasat shifts Kallus in his arms so that he is cradled, almost. His cheek is suddenly pressed to the curve of the rebel’s throat, the angle sharp and strangely comforting; there is something about the way that Garazeb holds him close, to the last semblance of warmth, that sparks an unusual ache in Kallus. It isn’t relief, and it isn’t gratitude.

He decides not to further investigate the feeling, for now.

Instead he leans into the gentle pulse that is now pumping steadily against his ear -what he assumes is Garazeb’s heart. Kallus doesn’t know a lot about lasat anatomy, but the constant, warm pressure quickly soothes the knot of panic in his gut; he finds himself inhaling and exhaling with each beat, as Garazeb soldiers on up the hill. For the first time since the crash he acknowledges just how fucking _tired_ he is. How much he wants to sleep. When was the last time he closed his eyes? 

In the back of his mind Kallus knows they will reach the top of the hill soon, and he will immediately regress to the safety of alert pessimism, pretend this never happened. He tries to comfort himself with the thought that soon the Empire will find them. That the lasat will be taken into custody without violence, will be given a fair trial. Will be set free.

But now, the thought doesn’t sit well; it flirts with fear, worry, dissipates as Garazeb speaks.

“How you doin’, Kallus? Don’t die on me yet, you damn imp.”

Kallus tries not to smile.

“Believe me, lasat, if I died here my superiors would laugh themselves into hyperspace. I will not be giving them that satisfaction.”

He feels a rumble work its way up through Garazeb’s body, hovering just below Kallus’ cheek. The lasat is laughing.

“A’right, Agent,” he says, and his voice is light. “Not much further, anyhow.” 

He hasn’t stopped laughing… purring? Kallus isn’t sure. The vibration has yet to subside, may have actually worked its way into his bones somehow. The sensation is surprisingly reassuring; and he feels, suddenly, like a child, dwarfed by his aching leg and a newly concerning dread -of rescue. What would the Empire do, should they pick up the transponder’s signal first? The thought makes his chest tighten, frightfully so. 

_Don’t think about that._

Kallus exhales, lets it go. There is nothing to be done, now. In the end, Garazeb is strong, and clever, and Kallus is so tired. He probably has ten, fifteen minutes before they reach the cave; is that long enough to sleep?

He doesn’t have much of a choice in the matter, as it turns out. Cradled in Garazeb’s arms, his breath clouding in time with the lasat’s heartbeat, exhaustion hits him like a speeder bike. It’s not worth fighting, not now anyway.

A quietness has settled over the icy wasteland; the wind is beginning to subside, and Kallus finds himself turning inward, towards that heartbeat, as the burn of snow softens; he tries not to yawn. Garazeb’s fur is warm against his cheek; all spiky sweat and metal. 

Don’t think about that. He is an ISB agent, an Imperial, and when he wakes this will all be a dream. To Garazeb he will revert to Agent Kallus, sworn enemy of the Empire. Wait, no. Sworn enemy of the _Rebel Alliance._

He can’t keep this story straight anymore, even for himself. And at this point Kallus can’t afford the energy needed to correct himself. It doesn’t matter now; he will figure it out later, when he can blink again and his senses aren’t overwhelmed with exhaustion and guilt. He will figure this all out.

And quietly, almost subconsciously, Kallus feels something click into place. He doesn’t know what it is. Refuses to look at it too closely. He shuts his eyes.

Wait. One more thing.

“Alexsandr,” he says drowsily.

“What?”

“My name. It’s… Alexsandr.”

And then he is asleep.


End file.
